COLD
by LyknScribe
Summary: Remus' chill won't leave him. As he thinks of the past and muses of a future he may never see. With out his lover, with out his love..will he ever be warm?


Please be nice to Christy, this is the first fic I have written in over a year.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry potter. If I did he'd be chained in my closet so I could collect a big ransom. Please Read and Review. Comments welcomed, Flames appalled. If I wanted Flames I'd start a fire.

Title: Cold

Pairings: Sirius/Remus

Warnings: slash, male/male relations mentioned with in story.

Rating: PG

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Written by: the harsh clap of thunder amber orbs darted open. Why couldn't nature have a quieter alarm clock? In the still darkness of his bedroom all his eyes could see was the dreary and yellowed pattern that formed the blanket over his head. He had not wanted to get up, not that day or that week. More to the point, he certainly had not wanted to be awoken at 3 am by an angry storm. He hated storms. Refusing to allow the storm to take him away from the surprisingly pleasant dream he had been enjoying, he rolled over and buried his face in the pillow.

The dream was wonderfully vibrant for a hint of a second in his weary mind. He had been wrapped in his beloved soul mates arms, watching their godson toddling from one side of the room to the other. A wonderful feeling had engulfed him while he was locked within that dream. He had been unable to define that feeling until he realized¼it was joy. So long had it been since he had been able to even remember that feeling, let alone experience it, in such a tangible state.

A streak of lightening brightened the **cold **room and vacant bed, serving as a **cold **reminder, he was alone. He sighed and sat up allowing the faded blanket to slip from his face and fall around his waist. The sudden touch of the cold breeze on his chest urged a shutter from him **Cold** , that word had so many meanings to him.

He had only dared once to visit that hell hole, where his lover was bound. Thinking the visit would help them both. Quiet the opposite. For the entire 10 minutes that Remus had managed to stay in that hell hole, the only words uttered by his beloved were, **"Cold"... "Cold"..."Cold"...**as it were some odd sort of mantra. He had gone so far as strike the bars in effort to even get Sirius to look at him. The method had worked, Sirius turned to look at him. No, to look his way, because the look of terror that had filled the vast emptiness of his lovers eyes must have been caused by what ever he saw, where ever his eyes had ventured to see outside of that cell. Sirius had screamed and clawed at the far wall, it was all Remus could take, he fled.

He shook his head trying to rid him self of that memory, gods how it hurt. He couldn't do anything for the man he loved, not then, not now. He would rise to his feet, fighting to suppress another shutter when his bare feet touched the **cold **hard wood floor.

The putrid yellow blanket slipped to the bed leaving him visible to the world. He was not shamed, why would he? Who would see? Who would care? Crossing in front of the **cold **mirror at the vanity he would pause to take in those scars on his back. Got to love politics. A **cold **laugh that sounded extremely unhealthy and a little insane slipped past his closed lips. They had called _him_ the monster.

He would cross into the kitchen, a hint of a smile touched his lips at a picture always kept at the center of the table. Thin fingers would wind around the frame and caress it tenderly before lifting it upward so he could make out the images in the darkened room. There was his beloved, his Sirius, holding his little godson, Harry. The picture was beautifully photogenic, with Harry perched on Sirius' shoulder with a matter of fact look at the camera. Sirius dressed in stylish black t-shirt, looking as though he nearly dropped the boy and wearing a shocked look on his face. That was a memory well worth remembering.

Remus was holding Harry's coat and playing a game that seemed to be frustrating the little boy. Harry would lean as far toward Remus as he could, in effort to get the coat. Remus would always pull it away and ask Harry , "Why?" The game continued for about four minutes until the little toddler had drawn him self upright and snapped, **"COLD!" **

A little known secret, Harry's first word had been **cold **not Quidditch as James had swore.

Remus' lips parted in a grin, that was a very fond memory. He would draw the picture close to his bare skin and exhale softly as a streak of lightening danced across the sky. For a hint of a moment, in the midst of the storm and the loneliness, Remus J Lupin, felt **warm**.

END

Well? How'd I'd do?

Let me know what you think.

Be kind to Moony - she's breakable


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